Platitudinous ponderosity
All these nouns sound so silly
A bawdy outward display from ostentation
A twist or fold from overt placation
An act, an instance or state of expansion
Increase in size from flatulent action
Assuming what is not natural or real
A false display of affectation or zeal
Pretension and haughtiness
It’s distastefully adorned with gaudiness
Promulgating esoteric cogitations
Articulating psychological observations
Ingesting superficial sentimentalities
Beware of platitudinous ponderosities
Resolution:
(And to all those who attempt to fleece
I have made a call to The Dream Police
And if you must know, his name is Rick
And he’s in band called Cheap Trick)
Sunburst sky sprinkles colors on the new day,
chartreuse meadow adorns pearls of topaz dew,
designs dazzling diadem on grand display.
The bent blades of grass shimmer with olive hue
in the amorous aura of sunshine sheen.
My window frames pristine nature’s charming scene,
the sky crafts chromatic collage as an art
of coral dawn I love, portrayed in my heart.
I’m on the synthetic stage of deception,
under the illusive limelight of time vain.
In make-believe play of life’s affectation
I face many actors, in their roles they reign.
As the times’ deceiving show goes on and on,
on veiled facade of fraud spotlight glare is drawn.
Living sore in the false realm of fake places,
I hate the feigned museum of masked faces.
The closest arm strikes;
It injures with desolation
Instead of solacing:
Broken consolation.
The treasured lip bites;
It tears to desecration
Instead of kissing:
Shattered affection.
The chosen heart burns;
It sears to extermination
Instead of embracing:
Loveless affectation.
the plane ascended.
i yelled it.
this straw in the wind; fly fly fly
i felt it was a necessary affectation
to ensure a safer flight
or rather a calmer form of passenger
bring out the java
i want to ride the bean
we soar, slope upward
i greet the turbulence
with grit
i summon over a flight-attendant and
offer to help up there with the pilot
she politely turns down my offer
and the choppiness subsides
but i still want a role
give me valiantness, worthiness, nobility
and astropolitics
we thank the crew as we disembark
i look into the flight attendant's helium-3 eyes
'when men are arrived at the goal, they should
not turn back.'
i was stopped at immigration for four hours
CONTRI and DISTRI
Someone somewhere decided English
needed to be changed.
As usual with our copy-cat world, so dire
an unthinking band wagon has spread as
a forest fire.
An academic,typically verbose, wrote
'why use one when two' could sound
more up-to-date and new!
Thus the 'double prefix' was conceived
and sadly like a Topsy grew.
Contri and Distri have wrongly become
the norm and vernacular pronunciation
overcoming like a desert storm.
English does indeed each day live
and breathe ... BUT..
one thought with you I leave..
a double pre-fix cannot be ..
ignorance is not bliss..you see?
CON & DIS are prefixes to, for example
English words like TRIBUTE.
however 'Contri and Distri' are not prefixes
to any known English word,
they are a 'modern' 'madhatter syllabic nonsense'
straight out of Lewis's 'Alice in Wonderland'.
Another 'modern affectation' like the pronunciation
of the letter 'H' as 'haitch' instead of 'aitch'.
I am done beseeching,
I am done disrespecting myself.
Grabbing onto twigs while drowning in a well.
Wells don't have no shells.
I am here writhing in pain and you look so well.
Your eyes which I thought were pearls,
they don't shine no more,
My heart was like a paper to you,
which you so easily tore.
You love me so less,
You don't care for me at all.
Yet you want me to answer at your every call.
I so stupidly run in your direction,
Mistaking your affectation for affection.
Then you abandon me with no explanation,
Here I am asking myself hundreds of questions.
Your eyes they are souless,
Your words, they are meaningless.
I am letting you go ,
This wound is going to turn sore .
But I am ready to move ahead,
The coffin's ready it's now time to bury the dead.
ABANDONED
Standing here by the empty dock
Cruise ship sailed, maybe an hour ago
I readily admit that I was a little late
But I somehow knew it wouldn’t wait
The correct berth the cab didn’t know
And without my stuff, it’s six o’clock
At least I still have some local money
But the local language I do not speak
North African with French affectation
Some pidgin English is an aberration
By late tonight I will feel quite weak
So, finding a hotel won’t be funny
My passport at least shows my name
But here at night I don’t feel too safe
Find a telephone, make a call for aid
But no connecting flights, I’m afraid
I must appear as some helpless waif
At least I’ll make an insurance claim
But no easy solution comes to mind
Maybe hire a boat to the next port
If the cash I have will cover the cost
Without transport I am certainly lost
No card payments, I’d have thought
I’ll wander a bit and see what I find
While it was dark in the early hours
I paid a guy for me to cross the strait
On an overcrowded migrant dinghy
Like the silent rest, I was also clingy
Gibraltar was at least a British state
Not Spanish, and definitely ours
Trousers are ashtrays
Traveler's affectation
Embracing the dirt.
This is my credo
massage my ego
Hey-the right to be me
with no morality
Hey-live and let live
don't inhibit me
Hey-listen to me
just let me be
let me feed my affectation
with contemporary confection
VOGUE
en masse
charms
in equal
measure
so
curiously rare
previously
a pleasure
yet
unaware
with
flashes
of
liveliness
stutters
by
bound by
the diverse
so poignant
interlaced
with affectation
such
enlivening
detail
& experemental
forays
a flurry
of the innovative
now
long
forsaken
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
ATMOSPHERES
ambient
installation
in
communal cipherss
transitioned
then
transcended
appropriated
with symbolic
affectation
of
attitudes
characterised
by
circles
simple
&positive
yet
marginal
merging
with
modernity
when
flourishing&
profound
&all around
is
decline
of the
premodern
replacing
the
rational with
harmonious
hubris
of
circular time
in
mystical
views
so intertwined
with
the
contemporary
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
I am cutting ties
that I knotted to a faraway soil.
Exiled no longer at the tiller
of a long beached fishing boat
that bobs only on the legends
of ancient waves.
Those fluent in soul-breathing,
the Celtic poets,
those wind-chiming lyricists,
are pulling me
to the bottom of Lake Erie
where drowned sea-captains still quote
what the Irish once wrote.
And here’s me, even today
caught by the mouth
from their linguistic fishhooks
yet cutting myself away.
I am a handmade citizen of a land
that is my own meat and gristle,
a subsoil am I
and my father and mother
the grubbing worm and the turtle dove.
Still Irish, but rootless
with no anchor in Galway Bay.
I have cut the trap lines
become a jobbing teller
of tall tales,
not a keeper of any traditions
planted by hands not of my own.
And if once in a while
I lapse into the sod and bog-speak
of my unlearned brethren
it is no literary affectation
of a better education,
for I remain this common creature
determined to be tied to a smaller rock
of my own choosing.
Like many, I masqueraded in shades of urban gray.
I offered my love to the midnight neon angel.
I walked the caliginous streets alone and astray.
She remained distant, alluring, always disdainful.
I courted cynicism, resignation, and despair as my style.
I wore tilted fedoras in smoke-filled reeking bars.
I feigned culture and literacy, trying to look worthwhile.
I blush now, recalling my see-through shooting stars.
Like many, I was just a child renting a man’s body.
I impersonated adulthood with stylized gloom.
I thought maturity was an act, so mine was shoddy.
I donned trench coats, my affectation in any room.
My blinking street angel had seen it all before.
My love for her was simulation and nothing more.
Through
the
looking
glass
I did
stare
a surrreal
scene
I do
declare
this
orwellian
wonderland
met
my eyes
hedonistic
affectation
here
and
there
everywhere
pernicious
correctness
in
masquerade
posed
equity
dressed
with
emperor's
clothes
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2013
I have started to loathe everything about me.
My heart seems pale and dull.
My face seems to lose its colour,
very soon all that will remain will be my bones and skull.
My heart is wandering in the abyss,
the void is deep and killing all the bliss.
My thoughts are becoming dark and deep ,
I find myself on a cliff wondering maybe the solution to all my problems is a long last leap.
I imagine myself walking through meadows,
holding god's hand and telling him all my sorrows.
This worthless feeling pricks and persists,
"END YOURSELF" is what it insists.
My failure seems my own fault,
I will never be that person who is worth one's salt.
My heart is full of regrets,
the smoke of thoughts surrounding me is suffocating me like cigarettes.
I am starting to lose the sense of love,
the line between affection and affectation has started thinning,
the god of death has started grinning.
The abyss is dark and deep,
the loneliness in here has started to creep.
Every step I take here, forces me to weep.
This world is nasty and cruel.
A grave is dug everyday,
take a wrong step and everybody here is ready with a shovel.
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